My old pal the Princess went to Coney Island, rode the Wonder Wheel the RIGHT WAY, and sent me a note with a fortune from Grandma, the undead old woman in the box. And all of a sudden, I was homesick. Not for the way Brooklyn is now, but for the Brooklyn of the 60s. And the Cyclone, and Wilson's and Hinsch's, the Hammer films at the Dyker Heights Theatre. The Brooklyn of the union of mothers, of free bologna slices at the meat markets, of Mr Softy, truck rides and blackened sidewalk outside the fish & chip shop. Of sharing a small front garden with a group of boys, we with our barbie dolls and them with their tonka trucks.
When this strikes I usually go look at Bay Ridge and city videos from Christmas. I'm not letting it go that far. Brooklyn summers live in my heart. If I could go back it would ruin it. It's better to leave that innocence be.
BTW Grandma's fortune is so wonderful I'm not posting it. I do believe in magick, after all...
The Door Is Ajar.
5 days ago